


And This is How

by catchmeifyoucreon



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, Femslash, Femslash February, Fix-It, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-07
Updated: 2015-02-07
Packaged: 2018-03-11 00:05:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3308225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catchmeifyoucreon/pseuds/catchmeifyoucreon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bela survived the hell-hounds, but she still hasn't told Sarah how.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And This is How

**Author's Note:**

> I originally wrote this for pantheonaslecum a couple of years ago, but only posted it on Tumblr. In honour of this year's Femslash February, I'm crossposting here. (You can find the original here: nyebevans.tumblr.com/post/41709313654/).

Six months on, Bela hasn’t told Sarah _how_.

She is quieter than she was before; Sarah sometimes finds her standing at the kitchen window in the middle of the night, staring out into the garden and shivering. When this happens, she makes them both a cup of hot chocolate with whipped cream and extra sugar. She sits at the table and waits until Bela shakes her head a few times and comes to sit next to her. Their fingers tangle beneath the table.

Bela enjoys gardening, which Sarah finds strange but endearing. She likes to watch Bela planting flowers, wisps of hair springing out from her swept up hair as she digs her fingers into the mud. They share a bath afterwards, all slick skin and scalding water, and Bela smirks as Sarah’s hands slide beneath the surface.

—

Seven months on, and Bela still hasn’t told Sarah _how_.

Every now and then, she wakes up in the middle of the night crying and pleading with an invisible monster to _let go, just please god, god i know i know i don’t deserve—_

Sarah holds her close if Bela wants her to, ghosting her hands along the thick, vicious scars that run from breast to hip. She whispers love poems into Bela’s ear, kisses the inside of her neck, and Bela falls asleep with her head on Sarah’s chest. She said once that she likes to hear Sarah’s heartbeat, a rhythmic clock telling her she has more time left. And if she didn’t actually say the last part, Sarah knows anyway, learned as they are in the intuitive language of hands and breaths and _looks_.

—

Eight months on, it’s spring and Bela still hasn’t told Sarah _how_.

They go into town on Friday mornings, the only day of the week that Bela likes to travel from their house and its immediate neighbourhood. She sets her alarm for seven o’clock and is dressed before Sarah even thinks about sitting up. Bela sits at their dressing table, carefully applying her make-up.

They visit Sarah’s father and have breakfast with him. Bela reapplies her lipstick in the mirror above the fireplace before they head into town to shop for groceries.

—

A year later, they sit at their kitchen table in their little house, drinking whiskey from the bottle and singing morose songs in slurred voices. There is a photo on the worktop by the back door, of Sarah and Bela and Maryam, Sarah’s new stepmother. They are wild, throwing their hands in the air, lips parted, shrieking happiness into the sky.

As Sarah gets up to put the bottle away, Bela leans in and pulls her closer, kisses tumbling through Sarah’s hair like a summer breeze.

"I don’t know how," she says, because of course she knows that Sarah thinks about it from time to time. That she was thinking about it just now, looking at the soft pink skin that puckers around Bela’s nose, streaking out across her chin.

But Sarah finds herself satisfied with the answer, and she tells Bela as much.

A year on, and Sarah doesn’t care _how_. All that matters is that Bela is here, right now, with her. They’re alive.


End file.
